


Not Pining

by BurningTea



Series: Season 11 fic [12]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Dean POV, Episode: s11e11 Into the Mystic, M/M, implied dean/cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 17:10:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5936332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurningTea/pseuds/BurningTea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After getting back from the retirement home, Dean can't sleep. He keeps thinking about that comment, that he's pining. But he's not. He's not pining for Amara. He's not pining for anyone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Pining

Dean wasn’t pining. He wasn’t. Pining was for someone you wanted, someone who made you feel…well, someone who made you feel. 

Amara didn’t make Dean feel. She took away everything he felt, right down to the pressure and loathing that had filled him since he could remember, since back from the times he’d failed at taking care of Sammy, or when he’d not been a good enough hunter. He couldn’t deny it was something, that sense of peace she carried with her, but it didn’t leave him pining.

It left him confused. It left him concerned. It didn’t leave him pining.

Something else he wasn’t doing was sleeping. Throwing back the covers, Dean sat up, running his hands over his hair and rubbing at his eyes. He should be asleep. Sam would be asleep, his huge frame dwarfing the bed, making it look too small for more than one person. Dean’s bed always felt like it could take someone else. 

Right then, it felt huge and empty, and he left it in search of something to take his mind off things.

In the kitchen, he got a glass of water and sat at the table, telling himself he’d go back to bed soon. He was probably just thirsty. The older he got, the more his body sent signals he didn’t get. Thirst got mixed up with hunger got mixed up with being tired. It used to be so much simpler. 

He’d left his phone on the table, and he pulled it closer to him now, checking the time. Almost half past three. At least there was no case lined up for the next day, no reason he had to be up early. 

Two texts, one from Jody and one from Garth. Neither one told him much. They were just checking in. Jody’s had a photograph attached: Claire sitting with her head pillowed on her arm, staring at the TV screen. Like father like daughter. 

Well, not daughter. Or, not father. Not really. Still, she was Jimmy’s kid, and Cas had Jimmy’s body. Looking at Claire was sometimes a flash into what it would have been like, if Cas had been human, if he’d had a family. And the guy could have had that, after Metatron had ripped out his Grace. He could have stayed in Rexford, tried for normal. But he didn’t. So Claire was the only kid Dean would see looking so much like Cas.

God, he had no idea why his thoughts had latched onto Cas from a message sent by Jody. 

Except… Except it was playing on his mind, he supposed, that Cas had been off. Sam brushing it aside didn’t really change the fact that Cas had been extra odd today. And, yeah, Cas was always a little off. He looked at the world differently, and that hadn’t really changed, no matter how many changes Cas had been through. 

There was off and there was not-Cas, though. Dean was used to rolling with the latest version of his friend. Hell, he’d coped with the bee talk and with the need to stock shelves properly and with weird-ass texting. Didn’t mean he’d thought to see Cas standing with his sleeves rolled up and files all over the floor. That wasn’t Cas. And the way he’d spoken… The intonation had just… 

Dean had heard Cas greet him more times than he could count, had heard him say sorry nearly as much. He wished their lives were different, so Cas hadn’t needed to keep apologizing, but there it was. Hearing it so often made it ring false when it wasn’t said the way it had been before. 

Something was wrong with Cas. Again. And he wasn’t telling Dean what it was. 

Stupid, self-sacrificing bastard probably thought he was sparing Dean pain. 

Another sip of water did nothing to settle Dean’s mind, and he played with the phone, turning it over and over. No text from Cas, not since they got back from Hell. Something about what had happened down there must have thrown the angel. Maybe it was facing Lucifer, being thrown around so easily. That had to be upsetting for a creature who used to be as powerful as Cas. Fuck, Cas had been more powerful in the time since Stull, until he’d lost everything and only clawed some of it back. Perhaps it was one of those times that made you sit back and look at how you’d changed, and Cas didn’t like what he saw. 

Or it could all too easily be something completely different. When Cas didn’t want to talk, no-one kept secrets better. 

Dean tapped the corner of his phone against the table, thinking.

This business with Amara was bugging him, sure, but he still thought pining was the wrong word. Truer to say that, right now, he was worried about Cas. It wasn’t pining keeping him up, at all.

Sighing, he set the glass of water down and pulled up his messages again, tapping out a quick message to Cas before he backed out. For someone who felt to understand Dean better than anyone, they weren’t great at getting the words out. 

‘Hey, Cas. You all right? Talk to me, man.’

If Cas remembered that motel room back with the Loony Toons case, and he would, then he’d know what Dean meant. Probably. Maybe. It had to be worth a try. 

He hit send and put his phone down. 

Cas didn’t need to sleep, Dean didn’t think, but he might be busy. No sense in staring at the phone. It wasn’t like staying in touch was always Cas’ thing. Although… He had been responding to Dean’s calls lately, and sending him messages with those stupid pictures in. 

It wasn’t like they’d always stayed in touch. When Cas had been fighting his civil war, Dean had barely heard from him. And when he’d been off playing human- No. When he’d been struggling with being human and Dean had thrown him out. Got to start being honest at some point. Then, Dean hadn’t heard from Cas at all, except for that one call that had taken him to Rexford. He wished he could forget parts of that. 

And then, when Dean had carried the Mark, he’d cut back on staying in touch with Cas, and the angel had stopped trying. Or seemed to stop. Dean was pretty sure, now, that Cas had just switched to calling Sam.

Maybe some tea would help. Dean would swear to Sam that he never drank the stuff, but he’d tried some a few times when sleep had been hard to come by, or when he was feeling ill. It gave him something to do, at any rate.

By the time he’d brewed a cup, he was starting to think going back to bed and at least lying down would be a good idea. Sitting up all night winding himself up about Amara wasn’t going to do much for him. This pining thing, it must just be playing on his mind because he was tired. He’d go back to bed, take his tea with him, and in the morning he’d stay in bed as long as he damn well pleased. Everything would seem better.

Still no reply from Cas. But it had only been twenty minutes since he sent the message. Dude was probably busy. 

Next time Dean saw him, he’d ask him more about how he was looking for Amara, and what he intended to do when he found her. With Lucifer back in the Cage, they needed to find another nuke, and one which wouldn’t kill any of them. 

He took his phone with him, leaving it on his bedside table.

By morning, Cas would have got back to him. Dean was sure.

**Author's Note:**

> Because there are some moods in which I figure Dean hasn't actually worked it out yet, himself. This is one of those moods.


End file.
